


JWP 2019 #13: Ah, Youth

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and schmoop, Holmes Brothers' Childhood, M/M, Prompt Fic, The Holmes brothers are complicated, a little bit of hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 22:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19798807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Sherlock and John learn something at the zoo. Written for JWP 2019 #13.





	JWP 2019 #13: Ah, Youth

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Definitely related to [Nocturnal Creatures](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346063) and [Not Svelte](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445974), so this will probably make more sense if you've read those. Not that there's a lot of sense to be had here; this is all just unrepentant floof. Written in a huge rush. You have been warned.

“We were very excited by your message.” The young zookeeper didn’t even look up at them, too preoccupied by the inhabitants of the cages stacked on the dolly. “To have such a large and unexpected addition to the breeding population will be an immeasurable help to our captive breeding and reintroduction programs.” Dragging her eyes away from the cages at last, she rose from her crouch and turned to Sherlock. “Of course we’ll have to examine them to ensure that they are all _muscardinus avellanarius_ , and determine their general health. A number of these look very underweight for the time of year…”

“They were being deliberately underfed as part of a scheme by a group of diet drug fraudsters,” John volunteered.

“A proper diet should see the underweight ones restored in a relatively short amount of time,” Sherlock added. “And I can assure you these are all indeed _muscardinus avellanarius_ _._ I made a study of the species at an earlier point in my career, and while I cannot claim absolute expertise, the bushy tail combined with the pattern of ridges on the cheek teeth are, I believe, unique.”

Unlike most experts John had witnessed interacting with Sherlock, the zookeeper beamed, grinning from ear to ear. “Marvelous! It’s wonderful to meet a knowledgeable enthusiast. We’ve quite a few volunteers, I’m glad to say, but it’s rare to meet someone outside the field who really knows much about them. Come on then – let’s get these fine fellows into the quarantine area, and then if you like, I’ll take you on a tour of the facilities.”

Sherlock actually smiled. “Thank you, Doctor - ”

“Oh, just call me Doctor Meg. Everyone does.” She grinned and pushed open the doors leading into the staff-only area for that particular part of the Devon Zoo.

Meg kept up a steady flow of chatter as she led them down the corridor, talking of success rates in the captive breeding, litters per year, and the number and location of reintroduction efforts. Sherlock did not chatter, but he listened and asked intelligent questions at appropriate moments, and was about as relaxed as John ever saw him outside of the confines of 221B.

That made Sherlock’s sudden, frozen silence all the more noticeable. John followed his line of sight and stopped too, caught by the large framed photograph on the wall. It was a black-and-white picture of a young boy sitting curled up in a window-seat, attention focused on the large book held in his hands. A dormouse sat on one of the boy’s thin shoulders, the one closest to the camera, looking for all the world as if it, too, was reading the book.

Beneath the photograph, printed on the wall, was a simple line of text:

‘I heard every word you fellows were saying.’

“Oh, isn’t that the most charming thing?” Doctor Meg said, noticing what they were staring at. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of it either, the first time I saw it. The quote’s from Alice in Wonderland, of course.”

John couldn’t have identified the quote, but he knew with absolute certainty who the boy in the picture was, and the dormouse too: Sherlock, with his pet dormouse Mustard. He’d never seen a picture of Sherlock as a child, and the resemblance to the man beside him wasn’t immediately obvious. The young face hadn’t grown into its features yet, leaving it all gawky nose and chin and odd angles; and the black-and-white photography made Sherlock’s hair seem lighter, and hid the unusual color of his eyes. But there was no question in John’s mind that this was Sherlock.

“Where did the picture come from?” To anyone who didn’t know Sherlock, the question would sound mildly curious at best. John knew Sherlock far too well to be fooled like that.

“Oh, it was part of the donation that helped set up a dormouse study program here years ago – not quite sure exactly when, it was before my time.” Doctor Meg shrugged. “Donors can be funny, you know. It was quite a large sum of money, but it had several behests. One of the requirements was this this picture and quote be hung in one of the working areas, away from public view, and so here it is. It’s a bit of a pity we can’t put it on public display, or make copies for the zoo shop – we could probably make a mint.”

“Hm,” was Sherlock’s noncommittal reply. He said nothing more about it then, moving on as if his interest was just a passing fancy. But John noted how skillfully he extracted every bit of information about the photograph and donation from Doctor Meg in their following conversations, and how he casually mentioned stopping by the zoo’s donations office after their tour. John was unsurprised when Sherlock charmed the woman at the zoo’s donation desk into giving up precise details about that donation – almost everything about it, except the name of the donor himself.

“Mycroft took that photograph.” John took advantage of a lull in traffic to break the silence between them on the drive back to London.

“He joined the photography club when he first went away to school.” It wasn’t a confirmation or denial, but a simple statement of facts. “He gave it up almost immediately, but kept the camera our parents bought for him.” He was silent for a few minutes, then shifted restlessly in the passenger seat. “A great-uncle died during my first year at university. He had no children of his own. His will divided the proceeds of his estate between four of his five youngest relatives.”

John didn’t need Sherlock to tell him that he had been the one left out of the will. He wondered if this had been part of whatever had estranged the two brothers, or if they had already drifted apart before the will.

He said nothing, just rested the hand he wasn’t using to steer on Sherlock’s leg. Through the contact, he felt rather than heard Sherlock sigh. Moments later, the detective pulled out his phone and began texting.

Two weeks later, John noticed an addition to Sherlock’s bedside table. A photograph in a plain silver frame. It was the young Sherlock in the window-seat, Mustard on his shoulder, but unlike the zoo photograph, more of the window showed in this version. There, distorted in the glass, was the faint reflection of the photographer himself taking the picture, face forever hidden behind the camera.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 13, 2019.


End file.
